


No Thunderstorms in Los Angeles

by fueledbysquee



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fueledbysquee/pseuds/fueledbysquee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where Ryan thinks Brendon and Spencer are doing everything wrong, and Brendon thinks Spencer's doing Ryan. (real life AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Thunderstorms in Los Angeles

**Author's Note:**

> Ryan's not bad, he's just drawn that way. I promise.

Brendon was drifty and distracted his whole drive home, fiddling with the radio and tapping on the wheel to try and keep himself awake and attentive to the evening traffic. He'd missed the worst of rush hour again, staying late so that he had a chance to talk to the night staff when they got in, but the extra hours were starting to catch up with him. He opened the window to get some air blowing in his face, and got a lungful of exhaust from the battered pickup that was burning oil in front of him. The coughing woke him up a little and helped him focus on the rest of the drive, but it added to the things that he couldn't wait to leave behind him once he got back to the house and closed the door against the world for a few hours.

All he wanted was to be home and curl up with one of Spencer's sweatshirts on the couch, or better yet, Spencer himself. He wanted to stare at the TV for a few hours before going to sleep, and not have to entertain anyone or think about how to act, so he was disappointed to round the corner onto their street and find a strange car in their driveway. As he inched past it on his way into the garage, he peered over to look for clues to its owner. All he could see was an empty fast-food cup and one of those one-page maps from a car rental place on the passenger seat. _Not someone from around here, then_ , he thought, wondering if Spencer'd had a dinner meeting that he hadn't mentioned, or some other thing that had been rescheduled to their house instead of whatever had been planned.

Brendon parked in the garage and heaved himself out of the car with a melodramatic groan, deciding to leave his bag in the back seat and his phone in the cup-holder until he'd had a chance to scope out their company. Spencer probably would have called to warn him off if there was someone really awful over, but it couldn't hurt to have the excuse ready to duck outside if he needed it. He waited until the garage door was closed before opening the door to the house. He was always cautious in case one of the dogs would try to escape, but when he opened it, there was no familiar flurry of paws and cold noses to greet him. He could smell something roasting, which probably explained where the dogs were. When he shut the door behind him, he could hear the rise and fall of Spencer's voice over the exhaust fan in the kitchen, but not clearly enough to make out words.

He didn't see any clues in the mud room or the den as to who their mystery visitor was, and he started walking toward the front hall to ditch his coat in the closet instead of dropping it on the couch. He didn't see anything out of place there, either, and he was just ready to call out a hello and head to the kitchen, when Spencer stopped talking for a second and Brendon recognized the tone of the response. He froze, wondering if he could make it back out of the house and into his car to call Spencer and let him know he had plans somewhere, or got stuck at the center, or was being held hostage on a speeding bus, but don't worry, he was fine, he just couldn't make it home to hang out with Ryan Ross tonight.

~~

 

A year earlier, Brendon had been really sort of excited to meet Ryan. The _Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks_ books were a big hit with Brendon's nieces and nephews (if not so much with their parents), and Brendon had imagined that their author would be a whimsical sort of guy. So he'd been excited, but he'd been a little nervous too, from the way Spencer talked about Ryan.

 

Brendon knew why his relationship with Spencer worked. He knew that he was the flighty, fun-loving one and that Spencer was the down-to-earth, dependable one. He'd been worried that Ryan and Spencer's relationship was like that too, and that with Ryan around, Spencer would get tired of taking care of Brendon, and wouldn't need Brendon to tease him out of his rut.

 

It turned out that he had completely different reasons to resent Ryan's intrusion into their lives. Ryan was different, sure, but he was really kind of an asshole; Brendon had quietly revised his imagining of what sort of kid Spencer had been.

 

Spencer hadn't thought to clue Brendon in on the fact that Ryan had just kept writing the books for the money, and that he regretted that he hadn't published the first one under a pseudonym. When Brendon tried to compliment him, Ryan claimed that they were intended to be an ironic commentary on children's stories - or satire, or something, whatever but not actual children's stories for children. Ryan had assumed that he and his publisher were on the same page until he saw the final cover art, and by then it was too late: the first book was a pre-order hit, a testament to word of mouth and the power of marketing.

 

To hear Spencer tell it, Ryan teetered on the edge of martyrdom for a long time, before deciding to ride the gravy train until it ran out. He kept himself busy writing an endless series of manuscripts about the darkest, meanest parts of the human experience that he could imagine. He'd also written a series of novels about a serial killer in the publishing industry, but he had the good sense not to send those in.

 

Brendon, of course, sincerely loved _Nails for Breakfast_ , and couldn't understand why Ryan would want to throw away a career that made millions of people happy. He would have been so excited to have something like that to read when he was a slightly lonely kid, and he had a bit of a crush on Ryan's brain. He had been really hopeful that he and Ryan would be able to bond over creativity, or disappointing families, or something. He'd been wrong. Ryan had looked down his nose from the moment he'd met Brendon, and no matter what he'd tried, Brendon hadn't been able to get past it.

 

~~

 

Brendon hovered in indecision a minute too long, because suddenly Roxie set up barking and rounded the corner, almost slamming right into him as she skidded to a halt on the wood floors. Behind her, in the kitchen, Brendon could hear Ryan talking, still. "I'll never understand why you guys bought--"

 

''Rescued," Spencer corrected, with the voice of someone who'd said the same thing a hundred times.

 

"--that stupid dog."

 

 _She's not stupid, she just loves people,_ Brendon thought, crouching down to say hello, and then heard Spencer say, "Brendon loves her," like that was any sort of answer. "You know he'd have a ton of pets if we had room."

 

"If you let him," Ryan said.

 

 _I don't need permission,_ Brendon thought, just as Spencer said, "He's not a child, Ryan. It's not like I'm taking away his fucking toys to punish him," he continued, over Ryan's hrmph of disagreement. "Anyway, Roxie is _our_ dog. They're all _our_ dogs now."

 

Brendon eased the rest of the way to the floor, and crab-walked back a few feet so he could sit on the carpet around the corner and listen while he scritched Roxie's ears.

 

"Maybe he needs someone to punish him, or take away his fucking privileges," Ryan was saying. "How much longer are you going to support him while he bums around as a street performer or whatever? You shouldn't have to keep _toiling_ in your shitty job just because he can't hold one down."

 

"He's a rehabilitative music volunteer," Spencer said.

 

"Whatever." Ryan made a hiss of disbelief, cutting him off. "He'd be better off as a street performer. They get paid." There was a thumping sound, like someone kicking the table or dropping something on the counter, and one of the other dogs barked in response. "Seriously, man. Just how long are you willing to wait? You're always in a shitty mood. It's a fuckin' waste of time, and you damn well know it."

 

"You know, swear a lot for a kids' author."

 

Ryan chuckled. "I've got to get it out somewhere."

 

Brendon's hands slowed as he listened, distracted and waiting for Spencer to come to his defense, but then Roxie made one of her happy/needy whining noises. Even though Brendon didn't think Ryan and Spencer could hear it in the kitchen, the other dogs clearly could. Brendon heard the jingle of their collars as they got up to investigate. He scrambled to his feet so that he could get far enough away to try to make a feasible entrance, even though he was already covered in dog hair, and called out his hello.

 

~~

 

Instead of his hoped-for evening on the couch, Brendon had retreated to the bedroom with a lie about changing his clothes, and face-planted on the bed. He was thinking of burying his head under the pillow, but that freaked Roxie out. It was only a matter of time before she came looking for him again, now that she knew he was in the house.

 

After a good ten minutes of trying to think about nothing, he heard Spencer call his name. Brendon didn't think he was up to being social just yet, so he didn't move. A couple minutes after that, he felt the mattress shift next to him, and looked over to see Spencer sitting next to him. "You want to come eat?" he asked. "We're going out to some club and Ryan wants to be there for the opening band."

 

Brendon tried to say "Okay," but it came out sort of garbled by the pillow, and he rolled over to his side. "I'm wiped," he said. "I don't want to be out late."

 

"Oh," Spencer said, and he ducked his head, looking over at the wall. "I didn't. I mean, you can, but I didn't think you'd want to go. I just thought we could eat first, catch up."

 

Brendon didn't want to whine; he wanted to be mature and aloof and _employed_ and whateverthefuck else Ryan was that Spencer saw in him. "Whatever," he said. "I'm not hungry. I'm sorry if I'm a lamer and you hate me."

 

"I don't hate you."

 

"You're going to, if Ryan gets his way."

 

"Ryan doesn't hate you." Spencer sighed. "He's just--"

 

"An asshole."

 

"Protective. He feels like he owes me."

 

"I owe you," Brendon countered. "Does that mean I get to be an asshole to all of your friends?"

 

Spencer grinned. "No, just my boyfriends," he said, but Brendon just looked at him, and the grin slipped away. "Brendon," he said.

 

"Whatever," Brendon said again. "Go hang out with your buddy. I'm fine." He rolled back onto his stomach and closed his eyes, and waited until Spencer got up and went away.

 

~~

 

Brendon woke in the middle of the night, still dressed, and sweaty and tangled up in the comforter, and alone in the bed. He got up to get a glass of water and noticed that the dog gate was up, keeping the dogs in the back of the house. When he got to the hallway, he could see that the lights were on in the den. When he got to the doorway to the kitchen, he could see that Spencer and Ryan were lounging on the couch, heads at opposite ends and legs overlapping each others'. There was at least a six-pack worth of empties on the table, and the room sort of smelled like weed, even though the window was open. Brendon turned around and went back to bed, calling quietly to Roxie on his way.

 

~~

 

The next morning, Brendon was looking for his right sneaker when when he caught a hint of movement beyond the doorway, and looked up to see Ryan hovering awkwardly just outside the bedroom.

 

"Spencer said that I need to apologize," Ryan said. "I'm not going to hug you."

 

"Good. I wouldn't want you to," Brendon replied. "You probably smell like pot, or like a bad attempt to cover up smelling like pot. I can't show up at the center like that."

 

"Yeah, that would be a real tragedy," Ryan drawled. "Might get fired. Oh, wait."

 

Brendon went back for looking for his shoe, hoping one of the dogs hadn't carried it off. "So this isn't an actual apology, right? 'Cause if it is, you suck at it."

 

"Why am I the asshole here? I don't even know what I'm supposed to apologize for. Why am I the one who drives people away?"

 

"Good question," Brendon muttered, quietly enough that he didn't think Ryan would hear him, and tuned out his continuing monologue. Brendon could feel his shoulders rolling in, sitting there with Ryan looking at him, and he fought against the urge to make himself insignificant.

 

"Just because Spencer is too much of a wuss to confront you about his shit--"

 

"Right," Brendon said, deciding to wear whatever shoes he could find in the hall closet or the trunk of his car. "Good talk. Enjoy your day hanging out with my boyfriend. Try not to get hit by a bus."

 

~~

Brendon had never appreciated, when he was younger, that people actually had to _try_ in order to get a job. He'd had part time jobs in high school. He's always gotten his first pick for internships and work-study and then placements all through college. He'd had great references and a kick-ass portfolio full of multi-disciplinary projects that he'd designed for incorporating math or history into his music lessons. He'd gotten a job with the first school system he'd interviewed with and moved to LA, where he met a cute, funny guy who was dog-sitting at the park, and he'd thought that being a grown-up was totally going to make up for how much being a teenager sucked, by a factor of like a thousand.

 

And then the whole state cut its supplementary music funding and his school system couldn't pick up the slack. He got laid off and hadn't been able to find anything within five-hundred miles. It was only a matter of time before Spencer got tired of him, and then he'd be living in a shelter (or maybe in the park, because no way was Spencer getting the dogs in the break-up and Brendon didn't think people shelters allowed dogs) and trying to get hours at McDonald's.

 

Volunteering kept him too busy to worry, usually; it was sort of awesome, but it was sort of exhausting, too, because it meant spending all day trying to be happy for people who didn't have much joy in their lives. It was easier when Brendon had extra happy to spread around, which was not so much the case after a fretful night and then a confrontation to start the morning.

 

~~

 

Brendon was standing in the kitchen, trying to decide between coffee and beer, when he heard the door shut and the dogs tore off to welcome the intruder.

 

He stifled a sigh and turned to the fridge, and when Spencer walked into the kitchen, Brendon offered him a bottle.

 

Spencer took it, and his eyebrows twitched up. "Rough day?"

 

Brendon shrugged. "Sort of," he said, and turned to the sink to rinse out the coffee cup he wasn't going to be using. "You and Ryan have a good time?" He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to steel himself to be polite about whatever story Spencer was going to want to tell. He heard Spencer moving, but he didn't expect it when Spencer hooked his chin over Brendon's shoulder and kissed his ear. Brendon looked up from the mug he was rinsing to look at their reflection in the window. "Where is he? Are you guys going out again tonight?"

 

"Ryan's - I don't know. Somewhere." Spencer set the beer down and put his hands on the counter, boxing Brendon in. "I told him he can't come visit when he and Alex are having stupid fights anymore. He can go piss in someone else's Cheerios."

 

Brendon didn't respond, and Spencer didn't offer anything else for a bit. It was nice standing there. Spencer was leaning into him with what felt like intent, and Brendon could imagine that it was a normal day, and they were happy, and Ryan had never left New York or whereverthefuck he was living now to come stomp all over Brendon's life.

 

"I missed you," Spencer said. "I called last night, when we were on our way home, but you didn't pick up." Brendon patted at his pocket to locate his phone, before he remembered leaving it in the car the day before. "Did I fuck something up?"

 

Brendon shrugged the shoulder that Spencer wasn't leaning on. "Not really."

 

"Ryan said that if he had to apologize, so do I. Even if he sort of sucks at being humble."

 

Brendon smiled for the first time in a while, and it fed the warm feeling that Spencer's touch had kindled. "He really does."

 

"So how about we don't talk about Ryan for a while?" Spencer asked, nuzzling at his hair.

 

Brendon smiled again, wider, and said okay.


End file.
